


She Who Should Not Exist

by Bloody_Vixen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Gen, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloody_Vixen/pseuds/Bloody_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death was supposed to be the end but instead she found herself reincarnated, an orphan of the wrong race, wrong country, wrong time and the wrong universe. Though she yearns for death, she must breathe still - for what other purpose does she have being reborn as Lord Voldemort's twin sister, if not to change fate itself? Reincarnation. SI. OC Fic. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reconciliation

She was five when she realized that there was something wrong with her.

At first it was the little things.

She remembered computers, of machines that allowed instant communications, faster than the telephone. Of cars that were more elegant, comfortable and quieter. Of planes that flew the skies, with sound that tore the air as it passed by. Of television, where she'd cry and laugh and cheer at the antics of actors on the screen.

Then, she thought it was a dream.

A long, vivid, realistic dream.

In this world one writes letters and called rarely to speak to another. The cars were boxy, loud and bumped over each pebble. The books were few, the toys fewer - and guarded jealously. The one time she brought up the television, Mrs. Cole gave her an odd look and told her to return to her books.

Sometimes she'd stare and tried to force herself awake. She pinched, she'd slap herself and would mutter – 'wake up, wake up,' but to no avail.

She'd wept and wept and after an incident where she tried to jump in front of a car, Mrs. Cole locked her up in her room. She remembered crying, then screaming as Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Abernathy tried to calm her down and forced a foul liquid down her throat. A part of her wished it was poison, wished it was something that would kill her because she was sure that was the only way to wake up from the nightmare.

She barely remembered the worried whispers, of a doctor who seemed more interested in money than the scrawny orphan brat who laid weakly in front of him, the sound of locked doors and children chattering about the 'mad girl', of a young boy who begged (then demanded) for her not to die; not to abandon him like their mother had done.

She tried to forget those early years, when she was forced to reconcile with her new reality. It was hard not to. Though she became better and the jeers of 'Mad Mary' became less and less, part of her still yearned for death. It was the only thing that set her apart from her brother, her twin, who she knew would grow to fear death above all else.

It was because of him, she breathed still. She realized she had too.

For what other purpose was she reincarnated as Mary Riddle, the twin of the infamous Lord Voldemort if not to change fate itself?

#

When she was finally 'healed', the children kept themselves away from her, as though they feared to catch her 'madness'. She was glad for she hated them, hated their presence, the fact that despite their laughter, they reeked a desperate sort of sadness. Part of her despised herself for it. 'They are orphans, in a time where being an orphan was a fate most unkind,' she'd chide herself, whenever they get rowdy and loud. She could not help it. She still remembered a time when she had a loving family, of independence and being taken seriously.

She tried to wonder why she was re-born in this universe.

As an atheist, it shook her to realize there was such thing as a life after death, worse still, reincarnated into a world that was, at all accounts, fictional. She'd laughed when trying to imagine her mother – such a devoted Muslim – would feel like if all those times of trying to get her to pray, to fear Hell and God itself was all for naught. There was no hell fire; no Angels who'd forced her through pain beyond imagining and no judgment where all her deeds laid bare and weighed before she went to her eternal fate.

But it might as well been.

#

She had seen Voldemort onscreen and portrayed in so many works during her past life. The boy in front of her didn't come close to any depiction: he surpassed it.

Tom Riddle was a beautiful child whom she knew would grow to be a devastatingly handsome man in the future. Physically, his many portrayals came close to capturing those striking looks that she knew would ensnare many. However, none came close to the sheer aura the boy exuded from his very being. The books mentioned what a powerful wizard he'd become but it was one thing to imagine it, it was another to be in its presence.

She was lying in bed, mulling her thoughts when she felt him outside the door. It was locked, of course, Mrs. Cole, despite the clean bill of health, wanted her isolated until she learned to be less reckless. The key was always with her and by right the caretaker was the only person allowed to visit.

It didn't stand a chance against Tom's magic.

Tom was beautiful even when sullen. He was angry with her; angered that she had tried to 'abandon' him. Every day he'd come and sit by the bed, silent as a shadow, flipping through the pages of a book he'd found before slipping away as soon as he heard Mrs. Cole marching down the halls. He was never one to offer comforting words (rarely any of his words ever were). In a way, she believed that by not speaking to her, he was trying to punish her.

That she didn't seem to care must have riled him.

But today was different, he brought not books with him and rather than ignoring her as she lie down in bed, she felt two strong arms roughly pushing her away from the wall that had been her constant companion.

Her eyes widened as she came face to face with Tom.

"Mary, you have to stop this," he demanded, tightening his grip on her shoulders when she tried to pull away.

"No, don't you dare. Enough of this," he snarled and pulled her up as she slumped forward, dazed at the sudden touch. Her weakness seemed to fuel his anger as he turned to grab her face, his eyes bore straight into hers.

"You will stop being this pathetic. Get up," he all but hissed, his fingers dug deep into her cheeks (there would be marks later – she thought). Tom's body was shaking and she knew if he was stronger, he'd try to forcibly push her to her feet. However, he was still a small child, scrawny like most of the orphans and just as feeble.

They both seemed to be stuck in a bizarre dance, of an unwilling partner and an aggressive suitor; he pulled while she was quite determined to simply collapse. There was such fury in him. A tiny voice wondered what seemed to drive him to such anger. Voldemort was not a creature of love, of care – charm, yes, but only when it suited him.

The boy in front of her seemed animalistic, feral even and she could not understand why. In the books, he hated the other children, thought them beneath him. Yet, here he was, struggling for a reaction – anything – out of her. It was though…

Maybe it was the human contact – so long in its absence, maybe it was a dormant sisterly instinct waking after a long sleep but her arms suddenly moved and grasped the boy and pulled him close.

He stiffened at first; the hug unexpected and sudden (even for her) and when they parted they pretended not to see the wet patches on each other's shirt.

#


	2. The Younger Years

Ironically, she felt the same as Tom towards their given name, though their reasons were different.

She didn't like it because she wasn't 'Mary'; she was someone else, someone whose name was given by parents who loved her.

While Tom had been given his name by the dying Merope, 'Mary' was something the caretakers gave because they could not go around calling her 'baby'.

"You were caesarean, child. By the time you were born she was already gone," they'd explain, "Fortunate the doctor noticed you were in there or you'd follow her to the grave as well,"

To the caretaker's consternation, the girl burst out laughing, "You mean?" she wheezed, "I didn't have to live at  _all?"_  and continued to laugh until Mrs. Cole sent her to her room.

Tom came later, his eyes narrowed with confusion, "Why do you want to die so badly, Mary?"

"Because I'm not supposed to be here," she replied tiredly.

There was a pause and she heard him mutter, "No, we're not."

#

Magic came to her when some of the ignorant social mores reminded her that the past was terrible place to be.

She was left-handed and never had any problems with it, except for the usual "Oh, you're left-handed," comments. She forgot that for some time, being left-handed was a something to be embarrassed about.

The teacher warned her to stop using her left hand and when she persisted, actually tried to tie her arm to the chair. The unfortunate man nearly ended up blind when suddenly his glasses cracked and exploded on his face.

Horrified, she didn't even protest when Mrs. Abernathy scolded her and caned her before sending her to her room without supper.

She wasn't surprised to find Tom later, nearly tearing the door of its hinges, face flushed with excitement.

"You –  _you_  can do it too!" he cried excitedly, ignoring the look of disgust on her face. "I always, I thought I was the only one! Oh, Mary do you know what this means?"

"Is Mr. Smith alright?" she asked, she didn't like most of the people at the orphanage or at school but that didn't mean she wanted to hurt them.

Tom waved his hand aside, "That fool is fine. Just got cuts all over him, but enough about him, you have  _powers_  Mary, powers just like me! Do you know what this means?"

Her stomach rolled unpleasantly as she looked at her hands. Tom didn't wait for her to reply "We are destined for greater things, sister, great things, just you wait!"

She had thought that having magic would be the only bright thing in this life, but as she replayed the scene where Mr. Smith clutched his eyes, blood streaming down his face, shrieking in agony, she realized for the first time she didn't want them.

Then as she watched as Tom's face twisted with delight she realized she didn't have a choice at that as well.

#

Tom's magic was, surprisingly, elegant.

She read about how wandless magic, though possible, was unwieldy and extremely difficult to control. They were supposed to be more like bursts, so quick to come and faded just as well. Trying to do something more substantial was like trying to capture water with a sieve.

Instead, she watched as he made Stubbs' rabbit, twirl on its paws, its partner a stolen doll from one of the children. His hands waved gracefully and his face, though smiling, was tensed with concentration.

It was a macabre situation, truth to be told, but better a cranky rabbit being forced to dance than what Tom originally had planned.

What happened was so clichéd that it was almost insulting. Bullying – or 'teasing' as they called it in ignorance – was the norm at Wool's.

She didn't see the foot, just heard the laughter as she fell face first onto the floor. Stubbs was the new kid on the block and found his that he liked tripping unsuspecting victims in the hallway. He thought it was funny and found it even funnier when said victim yelped when she tried to pick her things up before he kicked them away.

He didn't notice that he was the only one laughing or that the children were scampering away, leaving the halls empty despite the fact that it was break time. As he skipped off, he didn't see the pair of blue eyes glaring at his back.

Stubbs spent the evening at the nurse's room, sporting boils on his skin. Then she found Tom once again in her room holding a terrified rabbit in his arms.

"No," she said before he could open his mouth.

"He needs to learn his place. Boils could be explained away but if his stupid rabbit –"

She gritted her teeth, "Leave the damn rabbit alone, Tom," The boy raised an eyebrow and dropped the animal onto the floor. It dashed straight under her bed.

"You're using bad words," he said.

"You're doing bad things," she retorted but he smirked, "I'm not the one who gave Billy Stubbs boils so bad he couldn't sit down," Tom said.

"It was an accident and you know it, Tom," she spluttered, feeling her cheeks reddened at that smirk, "You know very well I can't control my powers like you do," she continued rather pathetically before glaring at him, "The rabbit didn't do a thing to me. Stubb's a jerk but you shouldn't punish his pet for it," she argued.

Tom's eye twitched and for a moment they only stared at each other, the rabbit rustling beneath her bed as though sensing the tension.

After a while, she took a deep breath and spoke, "Besides, being Stubb's pet is punishment enough. Remember that ugly sweater he made it wear?"

There was a snort and Tom dissolved into laughter.

"Yes, you're right," and Tom hopped onto her bed, not realizing how relieved she was.

"But I went through a lot of trouble to get it. The least we could do is have fun," he grinned.

Without warning, he held out his hand and the rabbit flew from underneath her bed, struggling against his unseen grip.

"Tom-," she cried out but the boy, sensing her discomfort, gestured once more and placed the rabbit gently onto her lap, as though he was making a peace offering. The furry creature seemed stunned at the action and the girl quickly gathered it into her arms.

"I wish you were gentler, they get scared when you do that," she said, stroking the rabbit's fur, eyeing how it seemed to droop. She didn't need to look up to know  _that_  smile was on his face, "I know."

#

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I want to thank you all for your kind reviews, favs and follows. I really appreciate it. As for your questions, Mary takes after the Riddle side of the family and if this would be a twincest fic I could not say. This fic is short but I'm hoping it will get longer as it goes along.
> 
> A/N 2: I didn't realize that Mary was also the name of Tom Riddle Sr.'s mother's name. That was purely coincidental.
> 
> A/N 3: Edited for some minor errors and word flow.


	3. Of Ghosts and Professor

#

She saw her first ghost at the beach.

It had been a rare treat for them, the trip, that everyone was practically a buzzed before the actual date. Even Tom, who normally scoffed at such childish behaviour could be seen smiling eagerly.

The beach was beautiful with its white sand, soft breeze and gentle waters that lapped calmly against the land. Untouched by pollution, it was unbelievably picturesque and even she had to concede (for the first time) that being born in the past had its good points.

Although the rest of the children still avoided them, she and Tom found a small spot just for themselves, far from their caretaker's eye and indulged on building sandcastles ('Fortress' Tom insisted), collecting shells and watching crabs scuttling about (or in Tom's case trying to stun each one and forced them to become castle guards). Even the weather was pleasant.

Then she saw him (and felt her stomach drop).

The ghost was a tall, skinny man with sunken eyes clad in tattered robes bedecked with seaweed. The worst part was his jaw; it seemed that someone had torn it from its hinges as it hung loosely around his neck, exposing his long tongue.

He was staring at them (almost longingly). Then, he settled his gaze upon her. Too late, she realized, that she should have looked away. The ghost's eyes narrowed and then he (managed) a grin.

"Tom, we have to leave," she started, trying to keep her voice steady. Her brother, for once scowled, he was enjoying himself and now she wanted to leave? He turned towards her, a scold on his lips when he realized why his sister was trembling.

"NO- _don't look at it!"_ she all but screamed. "We have to go, don't look. Don't give him the –"

They heard the unearthly moan – something that rattled deep, something that sounded like death.

She didn't wait for Tom to finish screaming (Tom never screamed, not like that, never like that), she grabbed his arm and started to run. She couldn't even gain a step when she tripped (fool, fool why did you hide so far away?), Tom staggered on top of her. The ghost cackled and swooped above them, his jaw knocked against his chest as he eyed their prey.

Instinctively, she shoved Tom behind her, and glared back at the ghost.

"G- go away, we're not bothering you!" she sputtered out. Her answer was a throaty cackle.

The ghost practically leered over her, his arms stretched forward – when it suddenly stopped.

She didn't know how long it stood, staring at her (a tiny voice begged her to pray but even if she was still a devotee, panic had rendered all of her memorisations useless).

But as sudden as it appeared, the ghost vanished.

She didn't even move, didn't even breathe until Tom shook her, "Mary, let's go, we have to leave," and dragged her away. She thought she had hallucinated, but judging by the way Tom gripped her arm, she knew it had been real.

Later, when night fell as she slipped into Tom's room, she understood for the first time why Tom became Voldemort.

#

In one of her moments of productivity, she drew her family. Procuring the materials required a bit of trade but in the end she found herself with a few empty pages and some decent pencils.

She didn't want to forget them, no, she would never forget them. She liked Tom but even though they were bound by blood, she still found the concept of being his younger sister, frankly, very peculiar. She had always been the eldest, even though she wasn't much of a role model part of her identity was surrounded made by that.

A part of her hopes the drawings would sooth her.

She wanted to love Tom; she  _needed_  too, especially if she hoped to change things.

So she drew, her father who'd made silly 'dad jokes'; her mother who would laugh at her daughter's own silly jokes and her sisters who would simultaneously annoy and cherish her and even her brothers.

She missed them, she  _missed_ them. She missed the warmth, the quiet comforts they shared, the food and the laughter. She hated it here, she hated being an orphan, she hated that death parted them so soon, she thought when she died there would be nothing but now she's here.

And they are gone.

She didn't realize how long she had stopped when a hand grabbed a piece of drawing away.

"I hoped our actual father isn't that fat," Tom remarked, examining her drawing, "And you got his race wrong too, neither of us are Orientals,"

She just gritted her teeth and snatched the paper back, reciting the mantra, 'He needs love and guidance, love and guidance, he's just a kid and ignorant, don't get mad,' again and again in her head.

"I was just drawing," she muttered as a reason and hid the paper onto the battered desk she had.

Tom accepted the excuse before lying down on her bed, his face pensive.

A moment of silence passed and she wondered if Tom had fallen asleep when he spoke, "Do you think our father is alive out there?"

'Yes,' she nearly said but Tom didn't need to know that. She couldn't explain how she knew but more importantly she needed to nip his father obsession in the bud.

"No, I think he's dead and if he's alive I don't care for him," she offered as an excuse.

"You just drew a father, how could you not care?" Tom asked.

"It's not –"she bit back, "Tom, even if he lived, he didn't search for us, he didn't care that his wife died giving birth to us, a woman named Merope Riddle shouldn't be hard to find. That could mean he didn't care enough to find her and find us, therefore he's scum and I don't want a scum for my father," she continued heatedly. Never mind that Tom Riddle Sr. had been raped, but his son didn't know that. (His daughter wasn't supposed to know that either.)

She thought that was the end of the conversation, but Tom sat up, his eyes furious, "Maybe he had a good reason, what if he has powers like us and has to go into hiding?"

"And left two kids who had demonstrated powers like him at an orphanage? That's the stu-," No, she stopped herself, Tom loathed being called stupid and it wouldn't get her anywhere, "Tom what makes you think he has  _powers?"_  she cried out.

"Cause if it was our mother she wouldn't have died!" he shouted vehemently.

Pretense of maturity promptly exited stage left, "Women have died at childbirth many times! What makes you think our powers could stop death?"

Instead of being defeated, a manic grin spread over his face, as though he had won, "It did, it stopped yours!"

She could hear her blood rush away; she hated arguments, was never good at it, even though she knew it was wrong, another part of her knew he was right. She recalled little of her first suicide attempt. She had tried to fling herself at a moving car and the next thing she knew the car was a wreck and Mrs. Cole was screaming for help but there was nary a scratch on her. Then all she could remember was being force fed medicine and being locked up in her room for a long time.

Tom continued, "Our powers have protected us; if that woman died it meant she was not like us, she would have powers to survive the birth. So it had to be our father,"

"I don't know Tom," she started and she hated herself because she knew Tom would take it as a sign of victory, "…but we'd never know. If he lived, if he had powers…until we know what happened, we're only left with speculation,"

"You can keep drawing your family, Mary but I will not cease to search for him, he could be the very key to understanding our powers," and he said and jumped to his feet and slammed the door with finality.

#

Albus Dumbledore arrived at the orphanage as the book had said.

But he wouldn't have arrived to a place where children tip-toed around a certain child, a nameless fear in their steps. There would be no dead rabbits or muted children simply children who sprained ankles and ended up with unexpected boils. And instead of a drunken half-terrified matron confessing of horrors of a child who hurt others; Dumbledore met with an indifferent caretaker who eyed him suspiciously before bringing them both to an empty classroom.

There were shouts of course, Tom might be kinder but he was no less suspicious and the threat of the asylum ever hung above him and his sister. So he was ready to fight, ready to use his powers when his sister did something unexpected.

She broke down with laughter.

"Oh- hahahaha- my God, OH MY GOD," and he had to stop her because he truly didn't want Mary to end up at the asylum.

Then, to Tom's great surprise, the man smiled fondly and waved around a stick when suddenly, out of nowhere a pair of glasses filled with lemonade popped onto the desk.

He had powers, Tom thought, powers just like them.

And then the man explained of magic, of Muggles, or Wizards and of Hogwarts. Then everything fell into place.

They were more people like them, Tom thought and if they were a community like them, maybe their father was one of them as well.

When Albus left, with a bag of gold for school (there was a  _school)_  things, Tom confided this to Mary but she seemed skeptical.

"If he's magical why didn't he use his powers to find us?"

Tom didn't have an answer to that and it grated him. Even though he knew Mary loathed arguments, she wasn't above to not poking holes in his.

But he would prove her wrong. He'd find their father, he had too for he knew war was coming and this wizarding world sounded like the only sanctuary they'd get.

#

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter was like biting teeth cause dialogue is my greatest weakness. It's not the best and I may come back and fix it but it's uploaded for now.


	4. The Master of Death

Her wand was unusual.

Tom, she knew, had gotten his Yew wood, Phoenix-core wand.

It was one of a kind, said Ollivander, his pales eyes memorising everything. Her brother looked delighted, as though it confirmed everything the boy needed to know. Of course, he was special, he seemed to exude, he had no doubt even among wizards he would be unique.

She did not expect hers to be as well.

It took her hours. One wand after another was placed into her hand. Each felt wrong after a wave. Too temperamental, took weak, too unsure, Ollivander exclaimed. A small part of her wondered if this was all a mistake. If she was not meant to be a witch, that she was in fact, a Squib when the wandmaker stopped, then stared at her.

She recalled how Harry had said Ollivander was disconcerting and gazing into those pale, silvery eyes, she found herself agreeing.

“...hmm, most unusual. It seems these wands found you...disagreeable. Curious, very curious,” he muttered, his long fingers steepled together. Then his eyes widened, “I wonder, would you kindly wait I think, yes, perhaps, yes, I do believe I have the wand just for you,” the man then waved his wand to conjure up a set of tea and sweets, before vanishing to the back of his shop.

Tom, who had spent the time waving his hands, muttering a few spells he had learned from the books they nought, eyed her like a cat would a wounded bird.

“Do you think, maybe we ought to try another shop?” she said halfheartedly.

 Tom shook his head, “This is the only one we could afford,” he countered, sipping his tea.

 Before she could reply, Ollivander returned, his clothes covered with dust, in his hand a battered box.

 “This is most unusual, yes, most unusual, do excuse the state but I had never thought that one of my earlier works...” he rambled excitedly as he placed the box onto a table.

He didn't have to say it, even from far she could feel its pull; a yearning so deep swelled within her as her fingers brushed the dusty layer from the box's cover. She could feel Tom's eyes behind her as she pried the box open to reveal a long, white wand.

She could feel a surge of warmth coursing through her veins like a good friend who arrived to visit (like a lover embracing another, she felt, deep down). She took one wave and a spark of light burst forth.

She had found her wand.

“Vine, thirteen inches, pliable and contains a single thestral hair,” Ollivander explained.

“Thestral?” Tom asked. Ollivander turned towards her brother, “Ah, yes, forgive me. Thestrals are magical creatures strongly associated with death. They are invisible lest a person was unfortunate enough to have seen death and accepted it. I don't normally use them but it seems that Miss Riddle here is not compatible with the wands I had made. But this is _most_ unusual,” he explained, his lips broke into a smile.

It looked so much like the one her brother was wearing.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Why, I had twins before who came to my shop. I had assumed twins would share the same wood, if not the cores but here you are with a wand so utterly different from your brother!” Ollivander exclaimed. “Phoenix and Thestrals, of life, rebirth and death, it's quite poetic.”

The man continued on but she stopped listening.

Though Tom nodded as the wandmaker continued spouting theories, she knew that her brother's eyes was on her and she didn't need to see the look in his eyes.

Of one who had just won a prize.

 

#

If she thought seeing the Hogwarts Express made her (and Tom, though he'd forever deny it) squeal with delight, it paled in comparison to the expression that came from her mouth as the boat they were on came into Hogwarts' view.

The castle was _magnificent_.

She could even hear Tom's gasp of awe as the caretaker, a squat wizard by the name of Mr. Apollyon Pringle, barked for the boats to slow down as they reach the castle's dock.

As they passed the great doors, it was all she could do not to weep.

She was at Hogwarts. _Hogwarts_. She knew of millions in her previous life would have killed to be in her shoes. She soaked in the stone steps, the imposing doors and large tapestries. Despite knowing it would move, she could only gape as the paintings flit in and out, its subjects peering over the newcomers with interest. There were no ghosts, yet, but she caught herself looking around for them.

She had been in castles before, but never one so steeped with magic.

Tom's hand found its way to hers.

“This is true, isn't it, Mary?” he asked, his eyes large with wonder.

“It is, I just, this is amazing Tom,” she replied, smiling sincerely since a long while.

Her brother smiled, releasing his hand when Dumbledore appeared before the great doors.

“Welcome all, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Just beyond this door, lies the Great Hall where food awaits. But before that we will be doing a simple sorting ceremony in which you will be placed in a house that will be your new home and family for the next seven years!” The man continued explaining each house, extolling each of their virtue. She could not help but note how there were no sneers when one house was mentioned over the other. She knew that Grindelwald was out there, in the continent but it seemed that wasn’t much of a Pureblood vs Muggleborn prejudice. Not outwardly, anyway.

When Dumbledore had finished his speech, he ushered them in.

The Great Hall was larger than she had imagined. Candles hung above them without strings and a few students pointed as the enchanted ceiling. Four rows of tables stretched from the entrance to the teacher’s seats. The older ones watched them with great interest. She did not recognize a single professor at the table, except for Dumbledore and the Headmaster who she assumed would be Dippet. There was no greasy haired Potions Master, the towering but good hearted Hagrid or even Binns. But she supposed as a ghost, Binn probably didn’t care very much for banquets.

Suddenly, her hands felt clammy.

She realized that she was about to be sorted, and that her mind would be read to the Sorting Hat. She disliked the very idea of a magical being perusing her memories like it was an open book but another part of her wanted it. The Sorting Hat was old and had seen countless minds, a part of her wanted to know if she was the only person with her ‘condition’. (If there was a way for her to get back home.)

“What house do you think we will be in?” Tom asked, breaking her reverie.

_Slytherin._ She had thought but instead she said, “I don’t know. I feel like I could be in any. What about you?”

Tom eyed each table as the Dumbledore took out a battered old hat and placed it on a stool.

“I hope we’d be together, wherever we’re sorted.” He answered, looking at the hat with curiosity.

“Are we supposed to pull something out of that?” he asked

She shrugged as Dumbledore called out the first name from a long scroll.

“Angus, Benedict!” A round faced boy, with pale hair stepped forward before Dumbledore placed the hat onto his head.

“Hufflepuff!”

Tom just blinked, “Oh, I see,” and they both waited.

It was truly different than in the books, she observed. When the first Slytherin, an Irma Bulstrode was placed in, there were no jeers but polite applause, even from Gryffindor. The same was true in reverse. It was sad, she realized that this camaraderie would be gone by the time Harry Potter or perhaps even in James Potter’s time, was enrolled at Hogwarts.

Eventually, “Riddle, Mary!” was called. She strode forward, nervously clenching her fists.

“This is it!” she thought. She had so many questions to ask when she sat down, smiling nervously at Dumbledore. The man’s blue eyes twinkled then vanished as she felt the hat sat on her head.

“…ah. This is unusual,” a voice spoke, startling her. She bit down her lips then thought, “Am I the only one? Mr. Sorting Hat, sir?”

She heard a laugh, “Unfortunately. I’m afraid you’re the first witch I’ve known to have been…resurrected,”

Her heart clenched with disappointment but she knew it had been a long shot. The books she read mentioned nothing about returning from the dead, exception to the Resurrection Stone and she knew Merope never owned such an object.

…except she was close to someone who did.

_The Gaunt Family Ring._

“Unfortunately, my abilities lay solely in Sorting Miss Riddle. You’re a smart child and though you’d never admit it, you’re ambitious as well. You know what will come next, don’t you?” the hat continued.

Her mind raced but not when the Hat cried out, “Slytherin!” and the hall burst into applause again.

She walked dazedly to the Slytherin table, ignoring how part of her uniform added silver and green upon its cloth. Tom joined her next, sitting beside her as the rest of Slytherin offered their welcomes and patted her brother’s back.

She knew of one person who did return, who came back even after being killed by a spell meant for death.

She needed the Hallows.

She needed to be the Master of Death.

 

#

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I wasn’t in the best of places last year. Again, thank you to all my readers and those who reviewed, bookmarked and gave kudos. I appreciated every single one.


	5. Meetings and Promises

Her mind raced as the idea ran through her head.

Master of Death.

It sounded pretentious to her but she needed to know a way to get back, find a reason why she was reborn in that universe, in that time as _his_ sister. It was a vague, nebulous idea and she suspects, could use a bit more thought but she needed the Hallows.

Gather the Hallows. Master Death.

Find a way home.

She knew where each were, the ring with Morfin, probably in Azkaban or at Little Hangleton, the cloak with the Potters and the wand was with Grindelwald.

She could learn to steal the ring from Morfin, confident that an uneducated tool like him could be waylaid once she mastered the Stunning spell. The cloak and wand, on the other hand, would require some planning.

The wand was easy. Wait until Dumbledore defeats Grindelwald and then offer the ring’s ‘services’ for a chance at it.

As for the cloak…she could befriend the Potters, somehow but she’d find a way to get her hands on it. Perhaps drop hints to Dumbledore, she hoped that wizard was still interested with the Hallows.

Rough, full of holes and can backfire spectacularly.

But it was a semblance of a plan and it was better than nothing.

Then a part of her began to whisper.

 _You are here_ , the voice said, _why cling to your past when you have greatness before you? Forget your family, embrace this opportunity!_ It exclaimed. _You can change everything!_

Sirius and Lupin could live, Lily and James could watch their son grow and perhaps, Albus could reconcile with himself and learn to love again. Even Snape could grow up and become a less bitter and cruel berk that he had turned out to be.

Then she remembered her mother and her father, embracing her, love poured from their very soul. Their faces blurred from increasingly faded memory but the love is still there. She remembered their pride as she graduated university, getting her first job, renting her first apartment. Her mother, who’s cooking shamed the best of chefs, her father who could whip up drawings of buildings that soared the skies, her brothers and sisters each with their own talent and infinite kindness.

She bit her lip, stopping the tears that threatened to come.

 _Time heals_ , she knew but the ache only softened, never to fade.

“Mary, eat.” Tom’s voice broke her thoughts. Without waiting, he placed a slice of roast chicken onto her plate, then pushed the goblet of pumpkin juice near her. She lifted her fork and took a nibble and her hunger, ignored before, demanded for more.

It took a lot of effort not to drop her fork and devour it like a savage, the orphanage’s food left a lot to be desired and meat was not something people had often due to lack of proper refrigeration and supply.

No such issue was there at Hogwarts. Roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, hot gravy and pies were all around. Even the air was delicious. Though Tom was also decorously eating his meal, she noticed how quickly he swallowed each bite, as though he too could not believe such luxury existed.

 _Learn how to smuggle food,_ she noted to herself. Although it had been more than a decade, she vowed never to suffer such horrible food ever again. So she continued, feasting on food, when Tom suddenly went rigid beside her.

“…Tom?” she whispered quietly to her twin as blood drained from his face.

The air turned cold and she heard gasps from all around.

Silver specters descended from the ceiling, old witches and wizards of long past in various stages of death, floated past the candles, each eyeing the students with interest.

 _Ghosts_ , she had forgotten about the ghosts at Hogwarts.

Ignoring the snickers from the older students, she clenched her Tom’s hands.

You do not exist, return to God from whence you came.

They were ghastly things. The books made them sound almost mundane, but there is nothing mundane about a man’s face twisted in rage with blood streaming down his clothes, of a sad faced woman with unnaturally sunken eyes, or a friar’s skin dark and cracked from fire. There others too, each of their wounds proudly displayed.

The fact that nobody fainted was a miracle.

The ghosts greeted them student merrily, ignoring some of the more frightened looks in the crowd.

“My, look at them, so young and full of life,” a ghost with a ruffed neck said, she guessed it must be Nearly Headless Nick. The man covered in blood frowned, then glided towards them. She had no idea how she managed not to break down as the Bloody Baron froze next to her, his dark eyes narrowed.

She remembered the rattle, deep and soaked with death, of a young boy who screamed and she held her breath.

The chatters seemed far away as she continued to stare into those deep, dark eyes.

She could see claw marks on his face, did the Grey Lady did that? Clawing at him as life slipped through her lungs, regret in her mind as she died?

 _No wonder Peeves feared you_ , she thought.

Dimly, she was aware a silence had descended next to her, Tom’s finger dug into her palm when the Baron’s lip split open in a horrifying grin.

Then he laughed.

And laughed and _laughed_ before passing through her – _itwascoldcoldcoldandshecan’tbreathe_ \- and vanished from the hall.

Suddenly, she became aware of the stares, living and dead, at her way.

A moment of silence past before a snort broke through.

“Didn’t know that the Baron could laugh.” A young Gryffindor barked and the silence broke. The chatting resumed as though it never stopped but Mary noticed that no other ghost passed the Slytherin table.

* * *

 

“What was that?” her twin demanded.

“Tom, if I knew I’d tell you.” She responded honestly.

She had no idea just _why_ the Baron laughed as he did. From what she heard the Baron was known to moan and moan only, so for him to laugh was unprecedented.

“Yeah, a bit odd for him to laugh. Never heard him do that in all my years here.” An older student, a Lestrange girl chimed in.

“Maybe it was a lark?” another girl piped up.

A mousy boy shook his head, “Or maybe Peeves finally got to him,”

“-who is Peeves?”

There was a sigh, “The poltergeist, honestly Richard you sound like some Mug-“

“If you don’t pay attention, I will make sure all of you will be without passwords for the rest of the term!” shouted the irritated prefect.

They all turned as the tall, pointy faced boy glared at them.

“I will only say this once: the password is ‘Purity’. It is meant for Slytherins and Slytherins alone. If I find out anyone had shared or slipped this password to other House students, they will be caned and served detention! Understood?”

There was a murmur of agreement, the prefect nodded then opened the door.

The common room was large and homely, despite being covered in dark green and silver colouring. Across the room was a large glass wall, showing the depths of the Great Lake. A few fishes and odd looking creatures, magical of nature, floated by.

A few boys and girls occupied the comfortable couches near the fireplace, some were reading books and a few played with chess and other board games.

It looked cozy and welcoming and not like the movies she had seen.

The prefect, a Longbottom – to her surprise – directed them towards their dorms.

As the others turned and chose their beds, Tom grabbed her arm.

“This is real, isn’t it?”

She looked at the walls, the moving portraits, the candles that float without strings and chess pieces that move without touch. Her brother’s awed eyes.

She smiled.

“Yes, yes it is.”

* * *

 

For the first time, she turned to look at her roommates closely.  There were three of them and judging from the pure silver crests on their trunks, they had to be from Pureblood families. She became acutely aware just how shabby and worn down she was.

They were sitting on their beds, wearing their nightclothes as she dragged her trunk towards the only empty bed. They were talking to each other but ceased as they saw her come in.

Quickly, she changed into her own night gown. She was about to set up her meager belongings when one of them, a beautiful long haired girl beckoned her.

“…um,”

“Oh, don’t be shy! We’re all friends now! Do join us!” the girl chippered and then offered her a tin of biscuits.  The other two, a round face blonde and a hard jawed red-head giggled as they took bites from theirs.

Eyeing them suspiciously, she took a small round biscuit and bit it, it was sweet and she sat, cross-legged on her bed. Seeing as she wasn’t turned into a canary or newt, she muttered as thank you.

“My name is Dorothy Prewett and this is Irma Bulstrode,” she pointed to the hard jawed girl, “…and this is Edith Parkinson,” the blonde girl nodded.

“I’m afraid we were not properly introduced…”

“My name’s Mary Riddle,” she said and involuntarily stiffened as Edith’s smile became fixed. Irma just stared bemusedly. Dorothy didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, a Riddle! I haven’t heard of that name before,” she said, ignoring Edith’s strained smiled.

“Are you a Muggle-born?” the latter asked pointedly.

“Edith!” Dorothy turned towards her roommate.

“I am simply curious, if she’s Muggle-born, she might not know about certain…expectations,” Edith replied.

“Don’t be so crude!” Dorothy huffed but turned to Mary, questioning, “…well, are you?”

Well, the Riddle girl thought, at least blood purity is still a thing. It would be disconcerting if the truth was Slytherin were always welcoming of Muggle-borns in the past and that Voldemort was why things were so bad in the future.

She was still trying to get used to the lack of jeers between the Gryffindors and Slytherin.

“I am unsure,” she replied, “I’m an orphan you see, so I do not know if any of my parents were magical folk,” It was not a complete lie. She wondered what Tom would have said if asked such a question in such a manner. He’d probably smile charmingly, then hex them in the future.

“Poor you,” sniffed Edith, her tone made it clear she was not feeling sorry at all. Dorothy scowled at her roommate, “What my dear Edith, wishes to say is that, I am sorry to hear that. Isn’t that right, Edith?”

Edith shrugged and judging from the glint in Dorothy’s eyes, she had come to the conclusion that her roommate was being utterly rude. Sensing the tension, Mary shrugged as well.

“It’s fine. It’s very kind of you,”

“Aren’t you that girl the Baron laughed at?” Irma spoke up suddenly. Mary jumped a bit, finding Irma mellifluous voice at odds with her face.

“That was you?” Dorothy turned, eyebrows raised. Even Edith lifted her head, eyeing Mary with interest.

“Yes, and no, I do not know why he laughed. Maybe he found my face funny?” she said. It was puzzling and part of her wanted to march down and demand an answer. But she would rather not spend her time at Hogwarts fending off a blood-drench ghost. She was already dreading meeting Peeves.

Dorothy shook her head and suppressed a shudder, “The Baron is quite awful; my uncle told me haunts the dungeons. Some say he seeks the one who murdered him long ago,”

“I heard from my papa that’s where he keeps the bodies of slow wizards who failed their exams,” Edith added, becoming interested in the conversation.

“Well, I heard…”

The three continued to speak, wondering the past of each ghost while Mary was forgotten.

A yawn escaped her lips and she pulled the curtains and dropped her head onto her pillow. They were soft and clean and she groaned at the fact that she would be parted from this by the end of the school year.

She tried to imagine Tom in the boy’s dorm. He could imagine him being miserable – he had always loathed sharing space with anyone, barely tolerating her. But he could be charming and knowing how he always get his way (well, mostly), she could imagine him trying to figure out a way to utterly dominate his dorm.  

Well, this was it. She was here. Hogwarts.

As though it was written, she has a goal in place. The Hallows, Mastery of Death and finding a way home.

She could live, accept her current fate, be the witch countless dreamt to be; be the moral chain to Tom and save the lives of characters she once wept for.

…but she couldn’t.

Her family is waiting for her and no matter how amazing the place is, no matter how fortunate, a part of her still wish, no, _need_ , to go home.

As her eyes closed, she whispered to herself, “Wait for me…I’ll come home soon.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, keeping timelines is ridiculously hard. Thank goodness for wikis or I’d be lost! This chapter is long, for me that is. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for your kind reviews and comments. I’m sorry if I don’t reply but I am kinda awkward, when it comes to PMs but know that I love each and every one. Thanks again for reading!


	6. First Day of Class at Hogwarts

She woke to the sounds of curtains being pulled and someone tugging the mattress from her body.

“Wake up, Mary!” cried a voice.  

At first it took her a moment to wonder why everything was so comfortable and nice before she realized that she wasn’t at the orphanage.

“Up! Up! Or we will be late for class!”

A part of her wanted to ignore the Dorothy and just continue to sleep, so soft was the bed but eventually she groaned and sat up.

Dorothy was already dressed up, her auburn hair perfectly braided as she did the same to Edith. Mary noted that Edith was even less of a morning person than she was, as the Parkinson girl threw a pillow towards Dorothy. The young witch ducked the projectile and simply tutted.

Irma, Mary noted, was putting on her schools robes.

“Good morning, Mary,” the young girl said as she began brushing her hair. Mary gave a quick look at the clock near the dorm’s door.

It showed 7am.

She must have groaned, loudly, as Dorothy turned away from her attempt to rouse Edith from her to give Mary a disapproving look.

“Now, now, enough of that. Early bird gets the worm! We don’t want to be late for class! Especially on our first day!”

“Shut it Dorothy, class won’t start until nine!” Edith spat, burying her head further into her pillows.

“So? Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes, don’t you want to have a walk on the school grounds?” Dorothy rebutted, pulling said pillow from Edith’s head.

The blonde witch must have muttered something rude as Dorothy cried, “EDITH!”

Realising that she was not getting back to sleep anytime soon, Mary stretched out and made her way to the bathrooms.

As the hot water poured down her back, Mary felt her brain start to plan.

If her memory served her right, Grindelwald won’t fall until 1945, around the same time as World War II ended. It would mean she would have to stay and graduate Hogwarts before she could even attempt the wand. The ring, she would have to ‘claim’ from Morfin. She would find a way to get to Hangleton during holidays. She would have to plan how to shake off Tom to do that.  

But the cloak is her biggest issue. The Potter family, despite their wealth and heritahe, were a small line; all but gone by the time Harry had been born. She knew her year had no Potter family members whatsoever, so she would have to keep an eye out for them in the older batches.

If none were here, she was going to have to wait for Dumbledore to borrow it from the Potters.

In 1990.

Frankly, she has no patience to wait that long.

She sighed as a conclusion came up.

Albus Dumbledore and the Resurrection Ring.

She knew she could bank on him wanting to see his deceased family again. He did so, foolishly in the Half-Blood Prince, and lost his life for it. She could offer him the ring’s service, if only to unite it with the cloak and wand. The Potters might look askance at a stranger asking to see their cloak but they would be more amenable to Dumbledore, future vanquisher of Grindelwald.

And then, she would do what Harry did, traverse the place between life and death and find a way home.

It was a goal and a plan and the first thing she was going to do was learn how to stun a wizard.

* * *

Tom was waiting for her in the common room as she stepped out from girl’s dormitory. He was reading _‘A History of Magic’_ as she walked up to him. He looked positively refreshed and alert, as he was wont to do compared to his twin.

“Morning Tom,” she greeted. Her twin flashed her an affectionate smile, “Morning Mary. Ready for breakfast?” he replied as he stood up and grabbed his school bag. It sounded so sincere, Mary was given a pause as she gave her brother a once over.

Gone was that arrogant strut and smirk and the boy standing in front of her seemed to embody a sort of childish awkwardness found among young teenagers. Harmless and childlike.

Not even two days in and already Tom Marvolo Riddle, perfect Hogwarts student was on.

It was not that Tom never pulled the whole, ‘charming, nice boy’ routine in the orphanage. It was just that everyone at Wool’s knew what Tom was like and it fooled only the new children and ignorant adults. Even then only for a brief while.

“Already?” she said, arching her eyebrow.

Tom leaned close to her, “Yes, let’s make Hogwarts a new, fresh, start won’t we sister?” To anyone else it looked like a simple harmless, if somewhat sweet statement.

Mary gave him a guarded smile back.

“Of course, fresh start,” she replied and Tom flashed another smile again as they both walked to the door leading outside the Slytherin common room.

As they made their way, quietly as they would, Mary realized something, once more.

She has seven years to go before she could begin reuniting the Hallows and she would have to reign Tom in if she was ever going to get Dumbledore’s trust. That means ensuring that Tom does not go to the deep end when he finds out about Merope and the Chamber of Secrets.

The Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin’s pet Basilisk, accessible via a hidden passage way in the girl’s toilets. Somewhere.

She frowned, her memory knew it was in a toilet on some floor, unfortunately she lacked details. If not she would have marched down to the Room of Requirements and used it to her delight.

Suddenly, she wished she was one of those fanfiction self-inserts with eidetic memories, it would have at least helped with her ‘Master of Death’ plan. While she knew the general history of the Harry Potter universe, she lacked the intimate details.

As for the Basilisk, she will have to cross that bridge before Tom does. Maybe Tom would never discover it and she’d avert the death of Moaning Myrtle. If not…well, she hoped that the Basilisk is an egg at this point and she’d be able to smash it to pieces or she would to start finding a way to smuggle roosters into the girl’s toilets.

Was it roosters? She would have to read up on it.

Feeling a headache, she wished to run back to her dorm and sleep the seven years away. She was not a planner of that scale and her manipulations less so.

“…were yours like mine?” Tom trailed before tapping for her attention.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” she asked, shaking her thoughts.

“I’m asking if your dorm mates have this Pureblood notions?” he responded, his lips curled with distaste.

 “Yes, but…they are polite about it,” Well, mostly; she recalled Edith’s response.

“Do you think our father’s a wizard here too? I hear they keep a book on wizarding lineages in the library and I think we should go there once class is over.” The boy said, his eyes burning with fervor.

“I have told you what I think about our father…” but Tom held his hand up, “I know but I still think we should try. I think he’s a Pureblood too, which means we’re at least Half-Blood. We have to be if we’re sorted into Slytherin. They never accept Muggle-borns.”

“And who told you that?”

“Avery. He said that there had been no Muggle-borns in Slytherin since the school’s founding,” Mary wondered if Avery was one of the earlier Death Eaters. She knew Tom eventually formed his little group during his school years.

And from Tom’s little speech some seeds of Pureblood Purity nonsense has sunk in. She was going to nip that in the bud.

“Really? Cause I distinctly remember the Hat saying something about Slytherin favouring ambition, nothing about heritage.”

Tom rolled his eyes, “If you’ve read _‘Hogwarts: A History’_ , then you would know that Slytherin has always been known to be champions for Pure Blood families.”

“I thought we couldn’t afford that book?”

“Avery lent it to me,” Tom replied, before taking the book out from his bag and placing it in her hands. “Here, I have finished reading it.”

Weighing the book that many Potter fans would have murdered to read, she gave Tom a considered look, “He _lent_ you that book?”

Tom gave her _that_ smirk. “Yes, yes he did.”

Her twin strode past her and made his seat at the Slytherin table.

As she sat next to him, she came to a conclusion: she was going to have to work harder and _quickly._

* * *

After finishing breakfast – jam and toast and all the eggs she could swallow – they received their schedule.

In her thoughts, she tend to forget that she was at a school and she needed to study.

She gave a glance at the paper the prefect had passed down the table. First class was Charms with Hufflepuffs, Herbology with Ravenclaws and History of Magic with Gryffindors. She would not get Transfiguration until tomorrow, along with Potions and…flying lessons?

She imagined herself clinging to a broomstick tens of feet in the air and cringed inwardly. Judging from the slightly fixed smile, she had an inkling Tom thought so too. Granted, Voldemort had no issue flying on his own, maybe he just find brooms lacking dignity.

“It seems we have a free hour here, we should go to the library then,” Tom pointed out on his paper. She nodded, though she did not agree with his intentions, she would have loved to visit the place. At the orphanage books were scarce and she would love to take the opportunity to read on some new tomes.

They were about to leave, when they bumped into Dorothy. Mary gave her a quick greeting when the young girl beamed and held out her hand.

“”Hello, Mary, and this must be Tom. Hi, I’m Dorothy Prewett, I share the same dorm as your sister.”

Dorothy must have thought she was being nonchalant, but Mary noticed the slight blush on the girl’s cheeks and the way she’s trying hard to look casual.

“Hello Dorothy, nice to meet you,” Tom replied and gave Dorothy a winning smile. The girl responded with further reddening of her cheeks.

It took all of Mary’s willpower not to grab Dorothy and run off, screaming that “It’s a trap!”, so instead Mary settled with a befuddled (and inwardly, horrified) smile.

Oblivious to Mary’s internal thoughts, Dorothy continued, “I can’t help but hear that you wish to go to the library. My brother is a sixth year here and – _Edith!_ ” the girl cut off as Edith stomped beside her.

Sporting an expression of an angry pug, Edith gave Dorothy an unimpressed stare, “It’s only the first day and you’re talking about going to the _library_? Honestly, Dorothy, you sound like those bluestocking girls. Library – ugh!” The young girl said before grabbing a cup of tea.

From the look on Dorothy’s face, it was as though Edith had just announced that she would snap her wand into two and declared she was going to join the Muggle world.

Sensing a fight, Mary grabbed Tom’s arm and marched straight out of the Great Hall.

* * *

After getting lost and climbing various stairwells that seem to delight in changing every time they reach the top, Mary (and Tom), admits that the whole magical castle thing can go screw off.

She knew why the stairs act as they do, but it’s not less infuriating to end up somewhere north when all she wants was to reach the south tower.  

It does not help that some of the portraits would titter each time Mary finds out that they had ended up on the opposite side of their destination.

By the time they did reach the classroom, Mary felt as if she was going to have to thank Dorothy for her insistence they woke up two hours early.

The charms classroom was wide and its tables set up stadium style, surrounding a large empty area in its center. Most of the seats had been taken and Mary waved at Dorothy (who had somehow reached there before them) and a grumpy Edith. Irma sat behind the two, reading her textbook. Tom merely smiled to Slytherin boys sitting across them, who were ribbing each other with their wands.

As her temper ebbed Mary felt a nervous energy thrumming in her. After the shopping trip at Diagon Alley, she and Tom had taken to practicing some of the spells in their textbook and they quickly reached to the same conclusion.

Their Latin needed a _lot_ of work.

After accidentally setting a chair on fire, then vanishing their clothes (which ended up on top of a startled Mrs Cole), she and Tom conceded that they were going to have to wait until they were in school before attempting the more complex incantations.

They did practice the hand movements, however, so that they could focus on how to pronounce the spells.

It did made her wonder why Latin to begin with. Magic, she believed, was older than humanity itself and yet to channel their abilities to their best, the magical world required Latin, a two-thousand year old language, to focus their spells.

She was curious if it was other countries had their own versions because she doubt the more isolated ones like Japan or the more proud kingdoms like China would have used Latin as spells. A part of her was glad she was in England, if Latin was hard, then Mandarin would have murdered her.

Her thoughts were broken as the a large middle-aged man, with broad shoulders and a beard thicker than Santa Claus walked in and stood in the center of the empty circle.

 “All right, you midgets, I’m Professor Beau and this is Charms class!” he roared, smacking his thighs as he spoke. “I know the lot of you probably think this is an _easy_ class, for dunders and the like but if you think that then you are free to _get out_ of my class!” he pointed at the door.

The talkative air dropped to silence as everyone gave Professor Beau their attention. Even the Slytherin boys as the professor glowered at everyone in the room.

“Didn’t think so,” the man grinned. “If I catch anyone fooling around, it’s ten switches for each of you and detention! Now, raise your hands and say ‘here’ when I call your name,” he said.

Professor Beau was the opposite of Harry’s Flitwick, in every way. Tall where Flitwick was short, broad and solid where the half-Goblin was basically feather weight, Beau had the imposing aura of someone not to be crossed with. Mary doubted he’s the sort who would be sent flying all over the classroom over misspoken spells.

He reminded him a bit like Professor McGonagall, only if McGonagall was the sort to smack you on the shoulders for saying ‘Leviosa’ wrongly, then demanding you to enunciate that word twenty times before he was remotely satisfied.

But he was good in Charms, there were times Mary stood transfixed as his large, oak arms moved gracefully across the air, his spells uttered with absolute perfection. There were no wasted energy and he demanded the same from his students.

In contrast, Professor Bloom was, less hands on, in a way.

The young (well she thinks Bloom is young) Herbology professor, wore large goggles over her eyes. She was bald and wore a pair of well-worn gloves, dirt covered robes held by a belt carrying spades in various states of dirtiness. When they arrived in the greenhouse, she was smacking a large fanged plant into submission with a shovel.

Without even a backwards glance, she ordered the nervous class to grab a shovel, “You lot, first lesson! This is how to beat a Venomous Tentacula!” as she swung hers down on an enraged plant.

It was less like a lesson and more like a free for all beat-em up. Tom even dropped his harmless façade and was gleefully whacking any plant life that snapped his way. Not all joined the fray, however; Edith and several others stayed near the doors and watched as the rest with disapproval.

‘Well, their loss,’ she thought.

The Tentacula beat up lasted the whole lesson and ended with her and Tom panting from the exertion. They were so exhausted that Tom dropped his plans to visit the library, and just sat at the Great Hall, trying to catch his breath.

Herbology was the high point of the day, unfortunately.

The books were not joking when they said that History of Magic was unbelievably dull. Mary was psyching herself up, fearing the Baron incident, but apparently Professor Binns was alive in that time.

Though judging from the way the old man barely raised his head as they all sat down, Mary thought that it wasn’t long before the Professor Binns would become the infamous ghost Professor.

As the time passed by, Tom and even Dorothy, was struggling to stay awake. Mary wondered if she could bottle up the drone that came from Binns’ mouth. She’d like to think that she’d cure even the worst of insomnia.

Yet, for the whimper of a class, Mary found herself quite happy; for the first time, she felt _normal_ and like the child that her age was.

Suddenly the seven years felt like nothing and Mary realized that maybe, just maybe, she could forget.

And for the first time, she allowed herself that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your responses.


	7. Flying Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. I got caught up with the It Fandom and was hanging around the sewers before coming back to this. This chapter is the longest chapter I have ever written. 5600 words according to Word and it's just - mind blowing - for me. I'm hoping to be able to update this more regularly, considering that Demon Clowns is actually finished and I managed to churn out a new chapter within a few days, barring a few exceptions. 
> 
> I'm trying to ease back into the Third POV after being used to a Second POV writing style, so please forgive me for the odd tonal shifts here and there. I have combed through this chapter as best as I can, but don't be surprised if you find a random 'you are' here and there.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos and bookmarks!

Mary hadn’t thought much about how exactly she was to gain Dumbledore’s trust. While the Harry’s Dumbledore might be inclined to accept her more fantastical experience regarding reincarnation and meta-universes, this Dumbledore does not exude the same openness. She understood though. This Dumbledore was still young and had yet faced his former-friend/lover in the battlefield. He’s afraid of what facing Grindelwald would mean and whether he could survive it, emotionally. Not to forget that he’s currently estranged from his only brother and for all his geniality with others, they don’t relate to him emotionally. They put him on a pedestal, no, _a throne_ , from which he dispensed his knowledge upon others. Guiding those to where they need to go and watching with constant vigilance.

And like all those who rule at the top, it could get extremely lonely. McGonagall, whom Mary believed to be his closest friend, had yet met him and was probably not even born yet.

In a way, Mary could relate to him. Knowing so much but must sit on one’s hands in fear of screwing up and making things much worse.

She does not know just how much she had already muddled with Tom. Mary would like to think her clumsy attempts at trying to be a sister for him, to show him that love was a thing worth fighting for had changed _something._ He’s fond of her, that she’s assured off but she doesn’t know if he’s fond of her like a pet or like an actual person. There were times when he’d come up to her, seeking something, affection perhaps, and she could see that it’s real. Then, he’d do something like twisting Avery into ‘lending’ his book or the way he’s all gentlemanly towards Dorothy then smirking once she turned her back.

It’s tiring to watch and sometimes she wished she had been born as someone else’s twin or not reborn at all.

But in the end, she opted to watch Dumbledore. She had made a complete hash for her first impression (hysterical laughter rarely does well) and she decided that maybe she ought to put on the aura of an orphaned student, eager to fit in with the wizarding world. It had worked well for her before and she’s banking on finding an opening that she could exploit later. Failing that see just how difficult it was to make Felix Felicis.

The day on Mary and Tom’s first Transfiguration class, however, it seemed the universe had decided to throw her a bone…or twenty.

“Did you hear the latest news about Grindelwald?” a senior student asked his friend who was flipping through the newspaper eagerly.

“Give me a moment, I’m still reading…” the boy replied, frowning at the article he stopped at. His friend didn’t wait however and continued as if he had not heard, “Well, it’s about this business in France…”

“France? I thought he’s spotted in Greece?” another boy, with wild red hair butted in.

“Greece? He left them weeks ago, no he’s in France I tell you…”

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear the rest as Tom tugged her sleeve for her attention. Her twin looked more refreshed than yesterday and Mary didn’t need to read his mind to know what he wanted.

“Library today?” Mary said before he could open his mouth. Tom grinned at her query. They had been side-tracked yesterday, after being completely exhausted dealing with not only a drill sergeant of a Professor but also a free-for-all melee with a Venomous Tentacula. Mary had wondered why the Wizarding World does not seem to focus much on the physical side in their curriculum excepting Quidditch but now she understood why they didn’t. Lord, that was just Herbology; what would Care for Magical Creatures and Defence Against the Dark Arts would feel like when handled by a competent teacher?

Mary felt her legs aching from the thought. Suddenly, spending time with Tom in the library, even at a misguided quest at finding their heritage, sounded so good.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to fight anything today. My arms are still crying.”

Tom chuckled and then gave Mary a sympathetic smile, “We have flying lessons, remember?”

Mary groaned, palming her face with her hands as Tom rubbed her back.

“I hear it’s on broomsticks too.” He added, sounding less pleased with that revelation.

“Do you think _every_ stories about witches and wizards are true?” she asked absently. She knew not all of them were true but she could see Tom’s mind pondering that question.

“It’s the last lesson of the day, though and we have a break before that. We’ll go after Potions.” He responded, putting some toast and eggs onto his plate.

“Have you started on that Charms homework?” he asked, nibbling into his breakfast. Mary was about to answer when Dorothy, ever refined sat beside her, flashing both the twins a winning smile.

“I heard you talking about homework! I knew you’d start right away Tom, you look like a student who takes his work seriously and that’s wonderful!” the young witch started, ignoring the groan coming from Edith who followed after her. If Tom was taken aback by Dorothy’s intrusion, he hid it very well and with a glance at his sister, who shook her head amusedly, he and Dorothy began discussing the more salient properties of linguistic magic.

Or something.

Mary decided to copy Edith (whose face seemed to get grumpier by the seconds) and finished her own plate quietly. Not that Mary was going to copy her own college habits of doing things the last minute, oh not thing time. Namely because typewriters and computers weren’t a thing at Hogwarts and she had to write with a (albeit magical) quill. Another frustrating bit was that while her brain was quite fast, her hands were more likely to set a sedate pace. Also, even though Wool’s Orphanages loved to drown their students with school work, it was still light compared to the workload Hogwarts was teasing to give. One day, once she understood Charms better, she was going to have to magic a typewriter for her convenience, at the very least. The Wizarding World might be content in believing their superiority towards Muggles but she was most certainly not going to. There were a lot of things the Muggles did right. And if there was one thing Mary firmly believed was working smart! And avoid unnecessary hard work because she’s a Slytherin dang it!

Bloody ‘quills’, in the twenty-first, er, twentieth century? She thought not.

Still, Mary did find some pleasure in watching Tom’s smile becoming more fixed as Dorothy rambled on about what she thought of the lax behaviour of some students (she eyed Edith pointedly). Her brother soon made signs for Mary to _please_ save him already but Mary simply smirked and waved him goodbye.

She was going to pay for that afterwards but it tickled her to see Tom at a loss for once.

* * *

Mary found a nice table, not too far from the blackboard but not too far at the back when Tom sauntered in with Dorothy still hanging on to him (as much as she could without actually touching the boy). Eventually, he was able to politely disengage from her as he placed his things onto the table Mary had chosen. With a firm wave, he sat down as Dorothy frowned and joined Edith who did not looked pleased with the arrangement.

Mary sniggered as Tom slams his textbook on the table and though he didn’t allude to Dorothy, he still gave Mary a look that seemed to promise vengeance.

“It looks like you have an admirer Tom,” Mary muttered, smirking as he scowled back.

Now, Tom had his fair share admirers back at the orphanage, it was rather difficult not too because he was a very beautiful boy and exuded a sort of charm that enticed others. But Mary knew none of them lasted very long, because once Tom knew someone had liked him, he would milk them for all their worth. Then he’d ruin them because that was you should do to a toy that’s no longer working.

Mary had escaped so far because she was his twin but sometimes she wondered if that was because she had not been broken yet. Or he still found her _fascinating._ There were moments when Mary could see Tom eyeing her like she’s a puzzle he could not solve and until then, she was something that offered him a measure of love bound by blood, even if that love was distant and confusing at times.

She was the only person who was there since he was born, his twin, the mirror to himself and Mary knew just how much Voldemort _loved_ himself. She was an extension of him and because of that, she was cherished for as much as someone like Tom could care for someone.

Mary could tease him, yes but only to an extent. Only when she knew it would help his image and oh, how he wanted to start fresh at Hogwarts. Their Muggle world would never accept Tom for long because even without magic they could sense there was something…broken with him. But here, in this world of magic where rules are bent, broken and twisted, the boy could start anew.

Tom could be Voldemort.

Mary felt a chill up her spine at her train of thought. She turned away from her brother, trying to get a grip as he frowned and touched her arm.

“Are you all right, Mary?” he asked and Mary wanted so much for that sincerity to be real.

“Yes…just…aching, that’s all.” She lied, touching her legs as though it did. Tom gave her a quick rub on her shoulder, like it was something a brother ought to do.

“I know. I’m still going to make you pay though.” He said, smiling mischievously at her. Mary swatted him playfully like a sister would do. Tom nudged her in response before Professor Dumbledore marched in and the lesson began.

* * *

Transfiguration had been interesting.

“Transfiguration is a very precise branch of magic. While Charms is an act of _adding_ a property to the object, Transfiguration _changes_ them. I find that an artistic mind are often likely to master this branch of magic, for it requires a strong visualisation and an eye for detail. Alas, there will be no levitations here or the need to enunciate certain words a hundred times in my class, but proper speech is necessary. Unless you want to end up chasing after mice that had fiery furs or oinking tables that once chased poor old Pringle around the hallway.”

The students giggled as Dumbledore gave them a merry wink towards Mary. As expected, Dumbledore was rather eccentric – well not ‘Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!’ eccentric, not yet – but there’s something whimsical about the way he saw magic. McGonagall and Snape had emphasised, in the books, about the scientific method of their subjects. Even Professor Beau would have drilled precision into his student’s hands if he could. Excepting Herbology, which was less wand-learning and more shovel whacking, they all demanded the same thing: follow the instructions to the letter and don’t fool around.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, saw art. He saw the loopholes, the twists, the places to bend. Yes, the spell demanded certain hand movements and exact enunciation – but what comes out might not be the same. For instance, Tom and Mary performed the correct spell and wand movement, but his matchbox would come out small, with a simple design. Mary was slightly larger and came with a logo she once saw at Diagon Alley. Dorothy’s was the exact replica of Dumbledore’s, while Edith, after some time made one with her name emblazoned on it.

And they are all correct in Dumbledore’s eyes. He asked for a matchbox, he did not ask it be the same one he transfigured.

It was less transfiguration and more, let’s see how much rules we can bend and still fulfil our goals.

It was fun.

And yet…Mary could not help but note a certain coolness in the way Dumbledore reacted towards her twin. The way his gentle smile would falter just a bit whenever Tom finished his assignment in class or the cool stare he’d give at Tom’s questions and answers.

Mary found that strange because she remembered their first meeting. It had been amicable at least and Tom did not exhibit any signs of his cruelty, just hard questions from orphans who just had their world blown wide open at the very idea of a _magical community._ There had been no toys set on fire nor tales of rabbits hanging in the rafters. All in all, it had been strange but reasonable.

So why was Professor Dumbledore setting up walls? Mary knew this because Dumbledore was acting like she does whenever she simply did not want to feel or deal. That slow dissociation. The grey-rocking of Tom’s attempts to peel off that layer to reach the man’s personal core. Not that he doesn’t do that to the others but it was especially pronounced with Tom.

Mary (and Tom) was baffled as to why.

She couldn’t help but stare at him, confused by this revelation, not realising it was longer than it was polite when the man stared back. Mary jumped slightly at this when she felt like someone was slowly piercing through her, peeling back _her_ layers when she tore her eyes away with horror.

‘Legilimens!’ She forgot about the whole _reading your mind_ thing. Mary tried to blank her mind, compartmentalize and thought of everything banal like a first-year should be. She gave Dumbledore a quick glimpse and saw a minute frown on his features, like he was surprised. Mary felt her heart racing inside her chest and she swore she could hear it beating in class. She focused herself onto the needle on the table, trying to imagine it becoming another matchbox but her hands were shaking.

Tom, bless him, gently prods her and she turned to see him staring at her curiously. Mary gave him a quick nod at her legs and for a moment he swallowed her excuse.

That did not stop her from nearly jumping from her seat, when Dumbledore asked, “Miss Riddle are you all right?”

“Eh, erm, yes, Professor, just a little cramp from…er, um…Herbology lessons.” Mary stammered, bending down to grasp her thighs as a means to avoid eye contact.

“Ah, I supposed you all had the pleasure of Professor Blossom’s hands on lessons?” the Transfiguration Professor said with a chuckle.

“Oh, yes Professor, we had to defeat Venomous Tentacula with _shovels_!” Dorothy interrupted, sounding absolutely scandalised. Mary could kiss her roommate at that moment.

Dumbledore continued chuckling at the antics of his colleague and moved away from the table, “Ah, yes. Often wizards and witches depend on their wands for tasks. It’s good that Professor Bloom teaches us once in a while to use a shovel or two,” he uttered and Mary could positively hear Dorothy deflate, thinking that the old man would agree that ‘shovels’ ought not belong in class. But Mary was simply glad Dumbledore was back to focusing on the various attempts of his students to transfiguring matchboxes.

Mary did not attempt to talk to him afterwards. She had forgotten a crucial element on her part.

Occlumency and Legilimens.

No, Dumbledore she would leave alone until she mastered Occlumency. There’s no hope for her to bargain with him, if all Dumbledore had to do was peer into her mind and see everything. She also wanted to punch herself; Tom was also going to master Legilimens! If not now, sooner or later and her mind, _her memories_ , was the last thing she wanted him to peruse in.

Mary’s mood remained jittery throughout Potions, so much so that it took her a while to realise that the class was being held by Professor Slughorn.

“What?” she blurted out loudly as the man, the skinny, not even remotely resembling anything the book or movie had described, introduced himself to the whole class. Tom gripped her arm tightly as she uttered apologies to the bewildered Professor.

“I, er, it’s pain from um, yesterday, Herbology, Professor Bloom.” Mary spluttered, rubbing her arms now like that part was aching.

Judging from the way Slughorn nodded sympathetically, Mary had a strange feeling the Herbology professor was going to be her go to excuses for a lot of these lapses. Still, it surprised her to see Slughorn teaching in this era. She thought he was joining the staff later, not seeing anyone stout and fun loving at the staff table in the Great Hall.

Slughorn turned out to be a rather slim man, with a generous handlebar moustache bedecked in simple and yet expensive set of robes. He looked positively immaculate and greatly resembled those white gentlemen hunters you’d seen in movies set in the colonial era. Also, he was rather handsome for a man around his forties.

Mary started to wonder if there would be any more surprises in the near future and scolded herself because she should stop being shocked. Of course, the characters she knew wouldn’t resemble the movies or her imaginations. Of course, certain people are going to look extremely different. She just wished she doesn’t blurt out like that and create unnecessary attention onto herself.

“Ah, you must be Miss Riddle, made a scene at the Great Hall with the Bloody Baron. Such a nasty business that was.” The Potions’ Master commented as he gave Mary a once over. Then she remembered The Slug Club; the the man loved to collect talented and connected students. While she knew Tom managed to wrangle into the club due to his natural abilities, Mary doubted she’d be anything more than Tom’s plus one.

But Slughorn still stared at Mary, like he’s curious about the girl who made the Bloody Baron laugh.

“Tell me are you too related in any way to the La Morte Family?” he asked and Mary’s eyes widened.

“Er, no, Professor. My twin brother and I are orphans. We are raised in a muggle orphanage,” She explained and Slughorn gave them a kindly smile.

“I’m sorry to hear that dear. I’m curious if you might have a link to them. The La Morte are known for their knowledge with afterlife matters. Why they are known to have the largest concentration of ghosts in their family, having a ghostly member almost every generation! I have known Mrs. La Morte since she was studying at Beaubaxton. She’s currently the Head of France’s Department of Mysteries. I’m sure she’d be curious to hear about this. The Bloody Baron had been her subject of interest while she visited here.”  

Mary’s head nearly snapped of her shoulders. ‘Afterlife’ matters? The La Morte family? Slughorn went on, talking to Tom who was also listening to him intently.

“But, oh dear, there I go again. Rambling on, when we’re here today to learn about Potions! Now, who can tell me what is Potions exactly in the art of magic?”

Mary allowed Tom to answer and do the talking. Not that her mind had wandered off but she quickly made a note regarding the La Morte Family. Tom gave her a quick glance as she showed him the name she had jotted down. Mary could tell that the boy would want to start from there. While she knew the La Morte Family would be nothing more but a red herring in the pursuit of the Gaunt Family, but it was a point of interest to the girl.

True, they are in France and Mary had no way to actually meet them, yet, but she still made note to see them, somehow. If not for the fact that they seem to be surrounded by death but by the dead as well. Mary could not help but feel curious.

The class went splendidly with Slughorn praising both Tom, Dorothy, Edith and several other known students with old family names. Mary was not surprised with that, what did however, was when Slughorn personally asked her to join for a simple tea party next weekend.

“Just a simple party, I’m inviting some of my former students along. Who knows, you might find out a few things about your future.” The man said before pushing them out for their next class.

Tom was impatient during lunch and Mary conceded to having just a quick bite before they both dash off to the library.

When they (finally) reached the correct floor, Mary let out a small squee of delight at the sight of all those books. Although Hogwarts was already a large castle on its own, its library seemed to have been magically enlarged. There were rows and _rows_ of books, some of them flitting about in the air heading towards their designated shelves. One area was chained off, of course as Mary deduced to be the Restricted Section. Already a few students sat on the tables, books piling beside them as they focus on their homework. A cheerful librarian, who went by the name Anna Pages, greeted them with a wave as they walked in.

Tom went up to her asking about books on Wizarding Genealogy as Mary stood there, simply taking it in.

This one, was without a doubt, going to be her favourite haunt.

“All right Mary, let’s look at these first.”

Although the reason why both of them were there was for the search for their family (well, for Tom anyway). Mary kept an eye out for any books she wanted to borrow and those she need for her homework. Her brother was single-minded in his pursuit as they reached the row regarding Wizarding history.

“Look for _‘The Complete Wizarding Genealogy’_ by Atticus Harm, _‘A History of Magical Family in Great Britain and Ireland’_ by Minerva MacDougal and _‘The Sacred Twenty-Eight’_ by Cantankerus Nott.” He ordered, his eyes already roving over the Ms.

“Do you think our family are in any of these?”

Tom lets out an irritated sigh, “These are the known ones. Maybe one of them contains our father, Tom Riddle.”

“Still think it’s our father?” Tom shot her a venomous glare and Mary would have flinched if not for the fact that she knew he wouldn’t dare do anything in public. Yet.

Rolling her eyes, Mary extended a compromise, “Fine. How about this? You look for our father and I look for our mother, deal?”

The young boy shut his eyes, taking a deep breath before agreeing. When they found the books, which were thick enough to bludgeon a troll with, they had barely enough time to peruse it. Mary knew her task would be easy, knowing that their mother was from the Gaunt family but she still wanted to look out for the La Morte family. If only to satisfy that curious itch at the back of her head. Mary also took a book titled _‘Ghosts: The Memoirs of The Ones That Stayed Behind’_ by Desdemona de la Morte. Spotting the extra tome, Tom raised an eyebrow but chose to remain quiet; in his way of apologising for nearly losing his temper.

After checking out the books and then storing them in their dorm room, Mary and Tom rushed quickly towards their flying lessons.

The Training Grounds, a.k.a the Quidditch Field (holy cow) was almost exactly like the ones in the movies. Except for some minor aesthetic changes, like the flags, how the uniforms are made and how the flying brooms looked like, Mary felt like she had stepped into one of Warner Brothers’ movie sets. Well, if the Quidditch Field existed, Mary had a feeling it was more of green-screen and 3D Models than anything else.

Still, it was amazing to see.

The referee, a sturdy old witch who went by the name Amanda Swift quickly led them to a bunch of broomsticks lying on the ground.

“Good evening, all of you! I’m Madam Swift and I can see from all those eager faces, you’re all impatient to try flying. Well, how many of you had had experience on flying a broom?” Mary saw several hands shooting up, most of them from wizarding families. A few Muggle-borns were hopping excitedly as they looked at the referee who grinned widely at their expressions.

“Good, good but learning at home is not the same as learning professionally! I want all of you to line up in front of a broom, each of you. Now go!”

The class ran up to their brooms, a rather battered looking bunch, Mary thought. She followed Tom and settled on the ones that looked the least woebegone. Her twin did not look assured at the whole flying thing. Mary could tell that he’s wondering if there was another way to fly that didn’t involve relying on an item that one used to sweep floors.

“Now, extend your arm, like this and say ‘Up!’” Swift ordered.

Mary, she noted, was one of the few persons who managed to get their brooms of the ground. Edith was one of them, already perched on hers like she had done it a thousand times. Dorothy’s one simply rolled over, Irma’s twitched and flopped back. Tom gave Mary a scowl before glaring at his unresponsive broom. He tried again and Mary had a notion that the broom probably ran up to his arm this time around because Tom sounded like he would set it on fire if it didn’t.

“Good, for those who have their brooms up, sling up to it and hold it like this!” the woman gestured, “Then wait there! The rest of you, try again!”

Mary swung over hers and was mildly surprised to find herself sitting on a nice, invisible cushion. She gently pushed herself off the ground and found herself floating just a few inches from the field. Tom mimicked her as well and she watched as her twin experimented in turning left and right.

“It’s a little undignified…” he commented as he turned towards her.

“It’s all right. Maybe needs some getting used to,” she replied letting her hands move and the broom sway. It reminded Mary of riding a motorcycle. Both of them waited, floating contently when they heard Dorothy practically screaming, “Up, UP you _stupid broom!_ ”

Mary recalled little of what happened next. She knew she heard the sound of Dorothy kicking the broom and it flew, smacking into Mary’s. The next thing she felt was the exhilarating sensation of being propelled hundreds of meters into the air, the sounds of screaming and panic drowned away as she tried to hold on to the broom in her arms.

Hogwarts, the forest and all those on the ground, zoomed passed as she soared above them. The sky was so blue and wide and she felt like she could breached the atmosphere and touch those beautiful stars.

Time stood still as she bursts through the clouds and part of her was screaming in panic and wonder, that she did not hear the broom snap.

She was falling now, her wings clipped, her stomach flip-flopped as her mind realised that she was falling and there’s no broom. Whatever feeble survival instinct that remained was crying out, trying to activate the magic that ran through her veins but part of her closed her eyes and simply _surrendered._

At some point, she must have hit something because her arm _snapped_ and what felt like branches beating her while she hissed in pain, praying it would all end when she heard him…

 “No, don’t you _dare!”_

Something, no, _someone_ seized her and Mary’s head slammed into a chest and sturdy arms. Her eyes shots and open to saw…

“Tom?”

“How dare you? _How dare you?”_ he hissed as Mary turned and saw, Tom on his broomstick, one arm clutched to its handle and the other holding on to her for dear life. Mary had barely grasped the scene when Madam Swift, flew up to them, with a thunderous expression.

“Tom Riddle! Ten points from Slytherin for disobeying a teacher’s orders!” she barked, while helping adjust Mary in his arms. Tom didn’t respond, simply tightening his grip even further. Slowly, somehow they found themselves back onto the ground. Mary heard Dorothy sobbing and begging for an apology. She heard Irma shouting at others to stay back and even Edith was peering over the crowd, her face stricken.

Mary wanted to signal them that everything was fine, but pain shot up her arm and she remember it had snapped, so she hissed as Madam Swift, conjured up a stretcher and carefully placed her there.

“All you stay here _on the ground!_ I am taking Miss Riddle to the Hospital Wing. Anyone caught flying without permission will serve detention for a month!”

“I’m going with her, please, Madam Swift!” Mary heard her brother beg and it sounded so wrong. She did not recall much else after that, just Madam Swift and Tom pushing her to the Hospital Wing. They reached there in record time, to a stern faced man who gave Mary a once over.

“First flying lessons, Amanda?” he said, quickly pulling out his wand and levitate Mary to an empty hospital bed.

“Yes, Hermes but not this one’s fault though, a student kicked a broom and hit hers. Flew hundreds of meters of up, and managed to hit some trees on the way down. Broke her arm,” Madam Swift explained. Hermes turned towards Tom who sat on the chair next to the bed.

“I’m her brother, Dr. Hermes, please help her.” He pleaded, the face of an anxious family member and the man’s face softened.

“It’s Healer Hermes but don’t worry, this looks like a simple fracture,” he motioned and quickly summoned a bottle of white liquid. He poured the content onto a spoon and pushed it against Mary’s mouth.

“Here, it tastes foul but in a few minutes your arm should mend itself.” He warned even as Mary spluttered with disgust at the taste of it. With great difficulty, she managed to swallow the concoction. Even as she gagged at the taste, she could feel her bones mending and the pain ebbing away. Tom watched with fascination while Hermes continued to put tiny vials and a small ointment jar of medicine on the table before examining her arms.

“Hm, see, your arm’s mending quite well. But you still need to take these. Rub this ointment here for the scratches and these would help you with the pain. You’ll stay here for the rest of the class I’m afraid. I still need to monitor your arm for a bit more.” The healer added.

“All right. You can stay here with your sister Mr. Riddle.”

“Thank you so much Healer Hermes, Madam Swift!” he effused as the two adults waved it aside.

“Don’t think too much of it. At least you didn’t land in the Centaur’s forest,” Hermes said as Madam Swift’s eye twitched.

“God, let’s not even think of that. Well, I’m going back and hopefully this would be the only incident for the day.”

“Don’t count on it,” the man shot back as Madam Swift walked away.

The next hour was spent with Tom sitting beside Mary with Healer Hermes occasionally peeking in. Tom was…kind. He helped Mary fluff her pillows and they made small talk about what had happened. Her twin stirred away from the details of Mary’s rescue or the outburst he had. It felt…nice…and for a while she felt like she could believe that Tom was being sincere.

Finally, near dinner time, Healer Hermes made on final examination, “Hmm, this looks good. I think you both can leave now and don’t forget to finish you medicine.”

They both thanked the man and began walking off to their dorm room. The walk was quiet and tense, Mary could sense that Tom was angry at her. Which was strange because the only reason why her arm was broken was because it was an accident in the first place.

She tried talking to him, bringing up ideas and theories that they might find from the books they borrowed by Tom answered monosyllabically, letting the tension hung awkwardly in the air. Finally, just before they reached the Great Hall, with students beginning to crowd and she felt safe in their numbers that she turned to him.

“Why are you angry? It’s not as if I wanted to fall.” She asked and Tom paused. His body stiffened as he takes a deep breath.

“I saw it.” He started, “I saw that face. The one you make whenever you want to die.”

She felt as if he had slapped her.

When he finally faced her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, something inside her twisted. She reached out for him, wanting to comfort him, to remind him that no, that was not true but a voice cackled cruelly at that statement. Then, whatever lie she wanted to tell him turned to ash in her mouth. Her hand dangled between them like a sign.

As though he could read her mind, Tom shuts his eyes, shuddered and then opened them back pulling the mask of Tom Riddle, Perfect Hogwarts’ Student back onto his face. He reached out for her, ignoring her half-attempt and pulled her into the Great Hall, as her roommates and his crowd her to apologise and inquire about her health.

It was only when they reached to the common room and part ways (research postponed), that he eventually lets go.

 


End file.
